The Hanged Man
by dhandarhil's hand
Summary: With no classes and Hogwarts at his disposal, Tom Riddle discovers the vital beginnings of an insidious destiny. Told from the charming and melancholy POV of Tom himself, hopefully without unrealistic fluff. includes 'conquests', curses and alliteration
1. Chapter 1 Spider

**The Hanged Man**

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own any of J.K Rowling's characters... but who wouldn't love to!

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_Will you come to the Yule Ball with me?_

I unfolded the roughly torn scrap of parchment and examined it for a moment; whilst Binns' droning voice merged into a great torrent of irrelevance, my world snapped onto the curly ink on the uneven surface between my fingers. The tactile sensation of fibre, a thousand tones and inflections interwoven into that short query. There came a surge of emotion so intense I tightened my grip, loathing myself for this weakness, driven by an insatiable need for understanding and control…

That is how I am.

I have been told that my hair, full and black, sweeping in waves over my forehead, is beautiful. My eyes, a yawning depth of crystalline grey, described the same. But this face, chiseled as if by a master artist- so it has been described- causes as much agony as the wounds of ignorance that bleed inside. The wretched, dirty blood of my father poisons my veins. I look like he did once. His death was a step towards purity, the unimaginable heights of immortality to which I seek the ultimate refuge. I seek it alone; how can she understand it, not even the tiniest fragment of it… I looked at her, meeting her gaze.

"Tom?" She whispered across the desk of her friend, a simpering Hufflepuff I vaguely recalled from brief moments in History of Magic class. The girl who slipped the parchment under the table was a wide-eyed Ravenclaw, with straight gold hair and a face so easy to read that I indulged her for a moment.

"What is your name?"

Inwardly I laughed as the shock registered on her fair features, Binns' dogged narration of witch burning washing over us. I didn't need to listen, having already scanned the amazingly dull book and tucking it into my cloak.

"Don't you… don't you remember me from Tuesday evening? W-when you…" This time I couldn't suppress my contemptuous smirk. Her small outrage, mixed with fear of social derision, was indeed quite amusing. I could still sense her yielding to my physical magnetism. It was such a dull class, else I would have simply forgotten she was there…

Leaning back, I brushed my gaze across the backs of quietly dozing students. Above and apart from them. Always alone.

"Oh yes." My smile widened at her relief. The pleasure was greatest when they faltered under my manipulations, enticing them into comfort and their vacuous idea of safety. " I kissed you, didn't I?"

Again, the spark of joy lit her eyes. "So will you-"

"-If you think," I continued calmly, withdrawing my wand and stroking the wood with long fingers, "that I would have Muggle-born filth such as yourself on my arm… you are very wrong."

I turned my head away, stretching my shoulders as the tired routine of stunned gasps and thunderstruck expressions ensued. I didn't bother to look; already her existence was waning in its presence amongst my thoughts.

Class ended, and I gathered up my books and paused, examining a quill that had broken. Again, that disgust of my heritage, flaring up like savage venom… Tom Riddle, the boy with nowhere to go without Hogwarts. Tom Marvolo Riddle, robbed of Slytherin's noble ancestry by a-

"Tom?"

There it was again! Wave after wave of shame, unrelenting. Bile rose in my throat but I crushed it, turning to stare at the sharp blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

"A bit late to be lingering in this classroom so close to dinner time, isn't it?" His tone was light and friendly, but I felt the weight behind it. _One day you will speak my true name, and I will show you the breadth of my abilities, beyond what you could ever comprehend. _

I looked at him coldly, moving towards the door and brushing past him. "My quill, sir. I was wondering what broke it." My voice was clipped with the charm of a prefect, perfectly inconspicuous, completely false. I wondered how his gentle expression might change under the curse I discovered only a week ago, when the Slytherin common room was empty but for me and the pages of a restricted section book.

Avery caught up with me as I strode along the corridor towards the Great Hall. Outside, rain thudded dully in time to the rumble of chairs and conversations emanating from the vast room, and no doubt a seat would be left for me amongst those who called themselves my friends. I felt the brush of a spider web on my cheeks and stopped, looking around the mellow stonework for the tiny insect.

" Er, V-Vol-?"

For some reason I didn't want to hear that oaf speak my self-constructed name. "What?" _Aha… just by that portrait of the hanged man…I see your little black legs… you cannot hide from me…_

"The snake egg you wanted; we- we got it from Hogsmeade!" The eagerness to please irritated me, but I continued to stare at the spider in silence.

Avery shifted uncomfortably. "I, er, just left it in on your bed in the dorm. If you want me to show you I can-"

"No."

"Oh. Okay, I'll just wait for you at the table shall I?" He bent his head and hurried away, his cloak rustling.

My head was aching as I reached for the spider and delicately scooped it up. "What will I call my snake?" I breathed softly, watching it scuttle over my palm helplessly, unable to find a release from the cage of milk white skin. "Do you think you can escape me?" I didn't expect an answer, of course.

I never have.

A memory stirred, the Muggle orphanage and its tattered few books… a story of a mongoose and a wicked cobra, bound to avenge that which was stripped from her, seeking the destruction of others.

"Nagini," I said softly, and knelt; the spider slipped between my fingers and was gone.

That night, after the hushed mutters of the others in my dormitory had ended, I arose. Moonlight faltered in at the window, casting the room in ribbons of silver that nestled in my hair. I could never sleep as they could. I cannot let the night steal away the vital moments of my consciousness, I will not willingly enter the twilight deserts of nightmares and appalling dreams.

My reflection shimmered against the blackness of the grounds beyond the castle, and I looked at myself numbly, feeling nothing… just emptiness coiling inside my chest, around the place where the pulse is born and for me is unreachable.


	2. Chapter 2 Gifts

"Tom, if the teachers see that snake- well, obviously-"

I rolled lazily across the bedclothes; _Magick Moste Evile _and a crumpled shirt fell from the topmost bed, landing with a thud on emerald green carpet. Unable to suppress an expansive yawn, I waited until the dormitory ceiling shimmered into view, and ripped back the sheets.

"Mulciber." I had been steadfast in my persistence of addressing fellow students by their last names. It seemed to add a bite of authority to any forthcoming statement… and I was a master of subtle domination. Of course, I wasn't to know that future blessings of fate would eliminate the need for this particular habit.

Mulciber eyed the small bulge in the socks near his foot with increasing unease. "Well, they might come up here," he continued edgily, "to check for Fanged Frisbees or something." He gestured at a small heap of gaudy parcels tucked almost apologetically behind his pillow. The weak winter light played on the decorations embellishing the gifts, distracting me for a moment.

_Christmas._

_A day of idiotic Muggle celebration and excess. Disgusting._

A fluid, catlike leap brought my knees to the floor, and I glared distastefully at the gleaming markers of Christmas distributed throughout the room. This year, however, my annoyance was countered by the prospect of uninterrupted sessions in the library. This holiday was more than convenient- it was essential. It was time to pursue the tantalizing vision of magic that was solely mine to own.

"Have Wickram and Lestrange already gone?" I asked enquiringly.

Mulciber nodded, ill-fitting Muggle attire drooping over the angles of his wiry frame. I was not relishing the prospect of spending long hours alone in the common room with the mildly paranoid fellow Slytherin. Nagini reinforced this point by causing him to recoil towards the door, her beady eyes glinting as she unfurled from my abandoned sock.

"_Good morning, precious," _I hissed in the noble Tongue, enjoying Mulciber's hurried remark of breakfast and his subsequent exit from the room, "_I hope that fool didn't wake you too early?"_ I watched her sinuous lengths caress my fingers, then eyed my cloak wistfully.

"_You and I only need wait a little while, Nagini_," I said softly, easing into a spotless black shirt and grey trousers which had served many holidays at Hogwarts. "_Perhaps one day we might never have to endure this ridiculous charade ever again. I'll do it_ _just for you, darling_…" Peeling back Mulciber's covers, I let Nagini's small coils slip onto the bed. "_Now rest here until I return, dream of what I have just told you. Just think of it… a world without Christmas!"_ A smirk drifting across my lips, I padded down the stairs.

Professor's Slughorn's portly silhouette was visible from the other side of the Great Hall, quite conspicuous against the small cluster of students and teachers remaining at Hogwarts over the holidays. I had avoided breakfast but my absence would be noticed at lunch; the usual routine of manipulation was, thus, in order.

"Professor!"

"Hm? Oh! Merry Christmas, my dear boy! Quick- sit down, sit down- no, Miss Bennett, no need to move." My sycophantic smile widened as I took Slughorn's suggestion… her name was Bennett?

The blonde Ravenclaw on my right stopped shifting her chair, staring fixedly at the turkey being passed to her by Dumbledore over the table. _Well, well, well…_

"Did you have a good haul of presents, Tom?" Slughorn winked extravagantly.

"Thank you very much, sir. The book is brilliant, I'll start reading it tonight." Headmaster Dippet beamed across at both of us, his brooch of holly sprouting extra leaves as I watched it. "I knew he'd like it, Horace."

I blinked innocently at him. "Oh- thank you as well, sir!" I felt the other's approving glances in my direction, and fingered the wand in my pocket. Only Dumbledore's eyes were not fixed on my parody of festive cheer. I hadn't even looked at the book, of course. Travers had overheard them talking about it after a late meeting of Slughorn's favourites.

Eating robotically, I allowed my gaze to wander across the rest of the occupants sharing lunch. There was a gang of first year Hufflepuffs tittering inanely amongst themselves… Mulciber, the only other Slytherin in my year remaining… and a Gryffindor girl.

Well, not my first pick. But, alas, I was not spoiled for choice.

I half-closed my eyes for a moment, bringing the force of my mind to bear on lithe fingers grasping a mug full of pumpkin juice.

"Oh my-"

_She's probably another filthy Mudblood, belonging to such a worthless house. But at least she's taller than that last one. Bennett. _

The brunette shrieked as orange liquid traced a graceful arc across her modest blouse, clinging in droplets to exposed patches of honey coloured skin. I stood up immediately, producing a jacket labelled with the text 'T.M Riddle.'

"Here, take this old thing, I hardly use it," I laughed warmly as the teachers scrambled for their handkerchiefs. She met my laugh with an embarrassed grin, getting up also. "Er…th-thanks Tom, I'll just clean myself up… when can I-?"

"Any time you like. I don't need it," I replied, sweeping the black waves off my forehead with a calculated measure of nonchalance. _Watch those pupils… _

Bennett was now staring with poorly disguised fury, a purple flush climbing up her neck. This was going to be more delicious than I had envisaged.

I held the girl's gaze for a second longer; sure enough, the ebony pool in each iris dilated as she drank me in. _Pathetic. _

"_Imperio_!"

The writhing stopped, replaced by abrupt stillness. Mulciber gazed down with delight. "Did you see that?" His rasping voice grated on my concentration. I let the book snap shut, and felt the warmth emanating from the fireplace on my face. Dusk always brought a subtle change to my spirits, and the common room portraits appeared transformed into a tableau of silver-green phantoms by the failing light.

"How long did it take you to break the shield that time?" I leaned over the soft chair, watching the inanimate mouse dispassionately.

"About three minutes, I think." Mulciber wore an eager look of greed on his countenance. I had realized his flair for the Imperius curse quite early in the year. Most of my companions had become covertly proficient in the Cruciatus curse- under my direction- but Mulciber's limited talents clearly lay in other areas. He revelled in control too much, thriving on the powerful highs his wand could deliver. He was useful but unrefined.

"Try it again. Faster." I said. My own wand darted through the thick air. "Kill the mouse and leave it upstairs after you finish."

"Alright," he replied distractedly.

Scooping _Magick Moste Evile _off the floor, I stepped outside the common room, feeling optimistic about the evening ahead. The corridors were deserted, amplifying the clap of my shoes on the stonework floor. There was nothing to fear from the dark… this was when my true studies of magic began. All around, the occupants of each painting slumbered in rhythm to the staccato footfalls echoing past them. The pulse of the true Hogwarts. I shivered involuntarily, remembering my jacket with irritation as the library doors loomed out of impending shadow.

"_Lumos_." The soft incantation was swallowed in the silence of the shelves. Here was knowledge that I craved, and nothing would stand in my path-

"Tom?" A warm hue of skin was revealed by the light of my wand. I blinked.

"You brought my jacket, I see." I could sense the timbre of my voice in the gloom, compounding the memories of lunch in her mind. Creating an alluring fabrication in which she and I would be immersed, if only for a few exquisite moments.

I stepped closer to the Gryffindor, the heat of my slow breath warming her cheek. _ Be glad of Lord Voldemort's good grace, for none receive it twice._

Whilst indeed nothing could stand in my path to knowledge, I had learned to accept a few delays.

"Hmm… _Darkest of the Dark_, no… _The Pitfalls of Enchanting, _surely not…" I sighed, running an index finger along the leather bound volumes. My own ingenious hex had disabled most of the protective spells on the restricted section, and I was free to peruse it at my leisure. Somewhere, ensconced within yellowing pages, was the spark of inspiration I so desperately sought. "I wonder," I muttered, absent-mindedly buttoning up my shirt.

"TALKING TO YOURSELF, RANTING RIDDLE? CRACKING UP?"

I whipped around, wand extended-

- A jingling blur of bright pantaloons and rotund belly caused me to step back against the shelves; the impish face inches from mine split into a manic grin.

"Peeves!" I snarled.

"Did mine eyes deceive me, or does the Perfect Prefect have a girly friend?" Peeves cackled in a carrying voice. _If someone comes to investigate…_

"Shut your mouth!"

"Ooh, is Peevesy getting you in twouble?" The spectre soared past and bounced flamboyantly across the topmost shelves, threatening creaks adding to the crescendo of noise. "Why aren't you back with the Muggles instead of slithering," (here he drifted through the floor only to emerge abruptly through my chest) ", sneaking, creeping?"

I froze, spine stiffening as if I had been Petrified from behind. "How did you-"

"Evvvveryone knows ickle Thomas is from the orphanage! Maybe they overheard ranting, rabid, ridiculous Riddle telling the Headmaster one day? You should listen to the girls and boys whisper about it," Peeves paused, arranging his features in a simpering pout, "'Oh-Poor-Tom, He-has-no-Home-to-go-to. How-does-he-manage with-no-Mummy-and-Daddy-'"

"CRUCIO!" I screamed, all thoughts of secrecy driven out of a mind filled with total and absolute rage. The curse shattered on the far wall, bursting into luminous fragments, and I flung out my wand arm again. Breathing in ragged gasps, I struggled for restraint… _a spell for phantoms… _the Cruciatus curse had been borne of fury, not logic.

_I can't stand their pity. What do they know about the subtleties of magic, the dishonour they bring on their ancestry? The Heir of Slytherin walks among them, and he will endure where they cannot. _

The spell suddenly evaporated from my mind. The stonework on the far wall had altered slightly; through the gloom I could see a slight depression where my curse had collided with the wall. Below it, there was a patch of darkness that indicated where the floor had suddenly disappeared. I blinked.


End file.
